


The Thing About Temptation

by CopperBeech



Series: The Temptation Thing [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Food Porn, Horrible Estate Agents, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Smut, Naughty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Teasing, Temptation, turning the tables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Crowley pulled off a tour de force enticing his angel ("The Temptation Thing"). He's about to be reminded that Aziraphalecanbe a bit of a bastard.Eating off an angel’s fingers might have been something he was warned about in all-hands meetings Downstairs. Like,don’t do that, Crowley, you’ll lose the power of speech and then what use are you?He couldn’t remember, but surely they’d covered it somewhere.“My, something’s brought out the snake in you tonight. I can feel where it’s split, mm, you know what that makes me think of… Don’t be too obvious, dear, we are in public.”Crowley wondered if there were a specialized term for rogering a primly smiling angel across a platter of rubber bread.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Temptation Thing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664737
Comments: 68
Kudos: 211





	The Thing About Temptation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OiShem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OiShem/gifts).



> Apparently, OiShem has become one of my Muses. After synchronizing imaginations with me in an exchange of comments, resulting in a Whovian crossover ("Allons-Y"), they popped in on "The Temptation Thing" (which you really need to check out first, if you haven't) and said, I quote, "Never in my life have I wished harder for a second chapter." (Very heady stuff for an author.)
> 
> Well, don't say that to me. Despite the ever-present peril of sequelitis, I'm too susceptible, and I needed to write some naughty fluff after that last angsty speedball. Also, there was something about a "Housedemon" T-shirt. (I'd settle for just seeing the design.)

The thing about temptation is that it can backfire on you. One moment you’re a self-satisfied, triumphant demon who’s just pulled off the coup of a lifetime; the next you’re lying there with your arm going to sleep, because the angel you tempted, who’s resting on it, is _also_ asleep, and you wouldn’t wake him for the world.

Once Aziraphale actually had sleeping figured out, he took to it like, well, like one of those things that water rolls off takes to the water. Crowley caught _himself_ staying awake when he’d have normally been out for the long count, just to marvel at the spectacle of those white-gold curls mussed against the pillow in the early light; feel the weight of a plump arm snugged across his narrow chest, listen for the tiny, adorable angel snores. If there was anything cuter than Aziraphale snoring, it probably would count as an Eighth Deadly Sin.

All right, Crowley recognized that sometime in the smug afterglow of luring his hereditary enemy, longtime Adversary, clandestine ally and speculative crush into the toils of temptation, he had himself plummeted so far down the rabbit hole of besottedness that it made the original Fall look like a stumble off a deep kerbstone. Epic demon fail. It happens.

And he was fine with it. After sixty centuries of the thankless grind of Hell, with all its moving-target quarterly goals, acerbic performance reviews, and relentless backstabbing, it was like being received back into Heaven. Minus the monotonous dress code and limited soundtrack.

In fact, the soundtrack of life with Aziraphale was exquisite. He wasn’t sure what he liked best – the breathy moans, the gorgeously obscene slurping and smacking noises, or the high wails that went on for so long that he speculated on a Celestial capacity for multiple orgasms. That was another thing the angel had taken to. He was a quick study; there were some things he’d picked up so rapidly that he seemed able to do them in his sleep.

Because that little dainty snore, with its occasional Baroque ornament of snuffles, wasn’t ceasing but um, the softness of that manicured hand shifting lower... Crowley decided to let him go with it. He’d wake up at some point; _just close your eyes, relax into the pillows_ , enjoy those random strokes over what’s sure not to be a wasted Effort, the luxurious flutter of sensation as fingertips ruffled short curls and devotions rose Heavenward.

He was already imagining the possibilities of standing in for breakfast when the angel gave an especially loud snuffle, shook his head a little, and withdrew his hand to rub both eyes.

“Mph. Time ‘s’t, darling?”

“Half nine.”

“Oh – _bother._ You’ve done it to me again. I absolutely must _run._ ” The angel hoisted himself out of bed.

“Ngk – “ A strangled noise of disappointment and disbelief was the best Crowley could manage, but then, he was new at this Aziraphale-waking-up thing.

“Oh goodness. I _am_ leaving you in a predicament, aren’t I? Now I feel wretched – well – nothing for it – I promised to meet this gentleman at ten. I’ll barely be on time as it is – what’s the saying – a kiss and a promise – “ He paused in the act of swaddling himself in all those fusty, delicious-to-remove layers and bent for a fond kiss, _not_ on the demon’s lips. “It’s an estate collection – only reviewing photos and part of the catalogue today, it may not be worth the trip to inspect it at first hand – never know – appraisal with a chance of some acquisitions – “ He was still as excitable about this side of his life as he’d always been. It had never been just his cover; he actually loved it. Despite the uncomfortable suspicion that he wouldn’t get out the door himself without some self-administered first aid, Crowley couldn’t help a goofy smile at the angel’s enthusiasm. It did spill over onto other things.

“Dinner tonight? We’ve been staying in so much. Maybe Ethiopian? A tidge off the path, but it’s got a bit of heat in it. The weather’s getting a trifle raw. There’s this place up in Kentish Town.”

Heat suited Crowley’s tastes entirely. So, paradoxically, did raw weather. It made the angel even nicer to cuddle up to, if that was possible.

Well. He could lie back and recoup the sleep he’d lost last night in an admiring haze. Or he could lie back and… well. It seemed almost a shame to take off the edge. Save that deferred flutter of lust for the evening, not that there didn’t seem to be an endless supply these days.

* * *

“I’m positively _famished._ When he said part of the catalogue, he meant he’d brought a whole valise. You know that’s the one thing that can make me forget lunch – well, up till recently anyhow – don’t pout.” Was he _pouting?_ This angel was going to be the ruination of him, but if a presumed pout was going to bring on that kiss right behind the ear, he’d own to it. Aziraphale was all bustle settling into the passenger seat. “I am absolutely going to have to go, this looks like a trove.”

“Drive you.”

“I’ve already got a railway ticket for tomorrow. This is a bit much for one day, I’ll be staying over. _Don’t_ look like that. I’ll call.”

“Losin’ all my demon credentials over you.”

“ _You_ started it – watch the traffic, dear – you know I like to keep in practice too. Fomenting love and joy and that sort of thing.”

Was he being _coquettish?_ It was maddening, and Crowley found he doted on it as much as he did everything else about the angel. He was not only in danger of being _nic_ e, he wondered at what point he was going to melt down into a puddle, less painfully but as definitively as Ligur.

He’d forgotten how messy East African food could be. It _was_ possible to eat it daintily, between little folds of that bread that was somewhere between a griddle cake and a rubber sheet, but he’d never gotten the knack. The angel, predictably, had mastered the art of being messy and dainty at the same time. The stews – they’d ended up with a sampler of everything – were oily, the oil was vivid with the vermilion tint of peppers, it made that biteable lower lip look, well, bitten, and threatened to run down fingers unless it was periodically licked off.

Aziraphale took his time about it.

 _You’re doing this deliberately, you bastard._ How the Heaven had Hell ever missed his potential?

“It’s up in Cambridgeshire, family collection. One of those eccentric old academic fellows who didn’t do much in his declining years but rattle about the house and accumulate rare books.”

“Wouldn’t know anyone like that.”

“The nephew wants to turn it into a bed and breakfast. Something about golfing nearby. Well. Sad comment on the times. Oh, this spinach thing is gorgeous, try it.”

Eating off an angel’s fingers might have been something he was warned about in all-hands meetings Downstairs. Like, _don’t do that, Crowley, you’ll lose the power of speech and then what use are you?_ He couldn’t remember, but surely they’d covered it somewhere.

“My, something’s brought out the snake in you tonight. I can feel where it’s split, mm, you know what that makes me think of… Don’t be too obvious, dear, we _are_ in public.”

Crowley wondered if there were a specialized term for rogering a primly smiling angel across a platter of rubber bread. It probably made a better mattress than it did a meal, though he had to give points to the chillies. Damn him, he was licking the same fingers now, with perfect, formal correctness, and only Aziraphale could manage that.

“Not makin' a play for you, is he? I could be your bodyguard.”

“You flatter me. You know I’m not everyone’s idea of a catch. But no, wife and children back in the States, gather the younger brother was an ex-pat, just wants to keep the property in the family and make his dollar out of it. Quite American himself really, grew up there. He makes Warlock seem reserved by comparison.”

“How’d he find you?”

“The way they usually do. If you have enough money you know other people with money, and _they_ know who can put a valuation on all your bits and bobs. He _did_ say he thought I’d be older. I hadn’t the heart to tell him.”

“Say you’re a young-looking eighty-three and you have an insanely jealous husband.”

“That would be fibbing, Crowley.”

“Dunno. I _am_ insanely jealous, workin’ up to it anyway, we could at least give notice at the registry office, he’d only think you were off your trolley about six thousand and then some…”

“It quite sweeps me away when you’re like this, you know.”

“Just the one night?”

“I thought of going up tonight, but I’d’ve hated to miss dinner.”

“And afters?”

“Dear.” The soft hand covered his, discreetly, for a moment. “I do think it had better be you to yours, me to mine. Just for tonight. I have an early train and you know I’ll miss it if we’re together. It’s late, and I’ll need to pack an overnight bag and study up on a few things.” _Study up,_ when the angel said it, could mean days of becoming nearly sessile, and the state of Crowley’s bath after a few weeks of semi-resident angel suggested that overnight packing could get elaborate. “We _are_ in danger of becoming joined at the hip, we’ll have to spend some time apart sooner or later… Do we want this cocoa and avocado whatsit for dessert? It seems like the sort of thing one really must try.”

He’d heard some version of that phrase several times in the past few weeks. To the angel’s credit, he was always right.

“Just keep your phone by the bed. With the ring thing turned up, I know how you can get with sleeping. I’ll call tomorrow before I turn in.”

* * *

He wasn’t losing interest, that was certain. The prolonged embrace just inside the bookshop doorway -- "no, dear, if you settle in it'll be all up for my self-restraint" -- had made it clear that that long morning coat was the only thing standing between Aziraphale and a charge of public indecency, and if we’re going to talk about _standing,_ well. The demon found himself wondering if he should miracle something looser to make space for the extent of the speculations that parting kiss had provoked. Maybe a burnous.

Aziraphale had a point. Eventually they would have to get out of bed, and in this new world they would have to find something to do with themselves. The angel had his books and always would, but Crowley? Tempting his angel (as much as it’d always been in the back of his mind) had happened because he was used to tempting, to having _some_ end in sight, and while he didn’t think he’d ever weary of the result, that left a lot of Eternity to fill. Maybe he could go in for landscaping. Thriller writing. Herpetology.

Maybe he could go home and do something about himself before he got dirty looks for standing with a yearning expression at a corner of the Soho pavement, dressed all too conspicuously on the left, like some sort of superannuated rent boy.

* * *

 _Eight fucking fifteen in the morning?_ Normally he wouldn’t bother answering, normally the phone wouldn’t be under his pillow either, who the fuck would call at this hour except Aziraphale, maybe he cancelled the trip, maybe – dammit – sometimes if he woke up too fast, the serpent in him forgot how to use hands, phone’s gone off the side of the bed, _fuck everything, Crowley, pull it together,_ head down and bum ceilingward scrabbling for the beeping thing, hadn’t he meant to give Aziraphale his own ringtone? the morning light’s scything in, forgot to draw the blinds again, can’t see a fucking thing, blind swipe – _“Angel?”_

“Ah – Mister Crowley?”

“If you’re trying to sell me bloody life insurance or timeshares you can fuck right off.”

“I _do_ think I can do a bit better than that. Sorry if I woke you. Cerise Hurley, from Savills?”

“Oh bloody hell. I mean, sorry. ‘Spectin’ someone else.” He managed to get out of the undignified position at last, not that it hadn't given him some worthwhile ideas.

“I could _tell._ Well, I hope I don’t disappoint, Mister Crowley, I wanted to get hold of you right away, can you _imagine_ that other pair of buyers dropped out, said they decided they liked something else they’d seen _better_ , _ate_ the earnest money if you can believe it, here we had everything ready to go, I told Gareth they were dodgy and _you_ were ready with a cash offer, but would he _listen,_ I don’t know how the young people these days get out of the house in the morning – “ sounds of shuffling papers mercifully replaced the firehose of _Just-Call-Me-Cerise-At-Far-Too-Early-An-Hour._ Crowley pulled the pillow over his smarting eyes. Entirely too bright.

“So if you’re still interested – oh, I know it’s here somewhere – there, oh dear, coffee stains – well, I think you’ve bought yourself a house.”

He’d half forgotten. Just a day or two, never mind a few weeks of Aziraphale ( _joined at the hip,_ the angel never chose his words randomly), had been enough to drive out of his head what had been half a ploy anyway. He’d been pretty sure the temptation was signed and sealed when he had his head in the attic of the little cottage off the A3, listening to the angel below him discourse unconscious moans to his backside. If another buyer turned out to have stolen a march on him, the game had still been worth the candle.

“I know, it’s a bit much first thing. D’you want to ring back when you’ve had some coffee?”

“Ah – no. What d’I do exactly?”

 _“_ Paperwork. Loads and loads of wonderful paperwork.”

“Used to that.”

“Isn’t it modern life? Well, I can send some things over for electronic signature, just to get us started – now will you be wanting that lovely boyfriend of yours on the title?”

“Nggg – hadn’t talked about it, we really haven’t –– well, not yet, I mean – ”

“Oh, now, how long’ve you been together?”

“Ah, s'pose it's ages, really – “ _you can’t tell her to sod off, Crowley,_ the house seemed that much more perfect with each passing second, _laburnums in the garden, bunches of herbs hanging in the big kitchen, angel with his feet up in front of the fender…_

“Well, don’t leave him dangling, dear, none of us are getting any younger, you know, he certainly seemed _awfully_ keen on you, and he _is_ quite the snack, as the young people say _._ Of course so are you, if you don’t mind my saying it. Time things right and you can carry him over the threshold. Well, I’m a sentimental old thing.”

“I – ah – well, s'pose I should – he’s out of town overnight, if I can get back to you tomorrow – “

“Oh, no _wonder_ you were so cross when it was just your friend _Cerise._ I hope you and _angel_ liked the Dunes, by the way.”

“Ah – completely, um, lived up to expectations.”

“Pip-pip, then. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

_What the Hell just happened?_

_* * *_

“It’s absolutely a treasure hoard, Crowley. If I’d had any _idea_ this fellow was up here cutting me out. I suppose it comes with being near a university.”

“How many this time?” Fatalistically.

“How many what?”

“Packing boxes.”

“Oh, ten or twelve, I suppose – plus anything I find tomorrow before finishing up – I’ve been trying to manage some self control…”

“Not for too long, I hope."

“ _Vixen._ How have you been getting on then?”

“Oh… plannin’ gardens, looking at wallpaper, pickin’ out furniture…”

“Crowley, what ever are you on about?”

“ ‘Member _Cerise?_ ”

“Dear, could I forget her? Despite my best efforts.”

“Called this morning to tell me I’ve got a cottage. Sent me a load of bumf online.”

“You don’t say?”

“Other buyer got cold feet. Be a bit of fuss, but… uh, angel, wondered if…”

“If? You’re not usually tongue-tied, Crowley.” Aziraphale could still be a bit waspish.

“Just thinking about making that room I was gonna keep ready for you, well, sorta permanent.”

“Oh goodness, that’s…”

“Lot to think about? Yeah, not gonna push…”

“This isn’t the start of another temptation, is it?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Hm. Well, it _is_ the end of a long day. And I’ve been dealing with this rather loud American, it’s a bit wearing. We’ll talk about this tomorrow?”

Crowley’s heart sank a little. The answer was supposed to be slightly giddier than that.

“It _did_ seem a tidy little place… it’s your fault, you know, if I was a bit distracted…”

“Big shoulders, angel.”

“Those silk pyjamas you miracled up… quite fiendish… you wouldn’t happen to have them on, would you?”

He knew the look that went with that tone in the angel’s voice. The fact that he was cuter than kitten-britches just made it worse.

“Happen I do.”

“I quite like the way you feel through those. You should untie the bottoms.”

 _Oh, Satan, he’s really going to go there, isn’t he?_ “Anything you say, angel.”

“Don’t put your hand in there yet. I just want to think about them being open.”

That admonition came in the nick of time.

“And I want you to think about… hm, what you were doing to my fingers at dinner last night. I’m doing that to you. _Not_ to your fingers.”

“What have _you_ got on?”

“Oh, everything. There’s a perfectly delightful wing chair in the spare room here, hassock, all the comforts of home… except you, of course… Are you thinking about it? I am. That tender little bit where…”

 _“Sssssss.”_ The image of that pink tongue-tip roving over pepper-stained lips was eidetic, and fairly incapacitating. _  
_

“Swear you’re not touching yourself.”

“On Beelzebub’s brassard.” It was something of a struggle.

“Have you any notion how toothsome that little belly of yours is? Silly me, of course you do, you’re a demon… Just that tiny bit softer than I’d thought it would be. All right, you can run your finger down it. Don’t touch anything else.”

“Ngggkkkk.”

“Nice?” He could have been inquiring about the appeal of a pudding he’d just shared.

“Nicer if it were you….”

“Oh, it _will_ be. Would you say you’re, um, in a state?”

Sucking a breath. “Yeah. I can state firmly that I’m ah, in a firm state.”

“All right then, you can put your hand on yourself. _Outside_ the pyjamas. You remember how I liked doing that.” He did. “You can move it a little.”

“Where are you _getting_ this, angel?”

“I work in Soho. I hear things. And most people are given over to all this video nonsense, but one can still find some very saucy books.” _Of course_ he would hit the books.

“You doin' anything?”

“I’ll let you wonder… Hm, do you remember that thing that made me so –ah – eager the other night? With your fingers in… You know. Just the one at first. Remember how you made me ask for it? Just touched and wouldn’t do more till I said please?” _Guilty as charged_. “That. Just barely touch yourself there. Imagine it’s me. Maybe my tongue, I’ve been meaning to try that.”

“ _Christ,_ angel.” The avid little bastard was as excited and experimental in bed as he was at the table.

“Odd exclamation, coming from you. Though as to coming. Don’t. Yet.”

“Much more of this and I can’t promise.” Just the idea of Aziraphale sitting oh, so correctly in his chair, collared and tied and jacketed, probably with a whisky nightcap at his elbow if the American was remotely civilized, and talking to him like _this,_ already had him shuddering.

“Well, I appreciate your honesty. Quite the metabolism for you. Do you want to stroke it?”

“What the fuck do you _think_ – “

“No need for _language._ Go on then. Nice and slow. Take your time.”

“I don’t know if I – “

“You're close then?”

“I _can_ be – _”_

“All right, get yourself a little closer...”

“ _Sssssssssssss –– “_

“Tut-tut-tut – now take your hand away.”

 _Satan, how long does he plan on doing this?_ "Okay. Waiting here," he managed shakily. The last time he'd said that he'd been, well, a lot more in control.

“Save that for me? Tomorrow, 4:24, King’s Cross. Goodnight, darling."

“Ah – angel?"

“Love you.” _Click._

Had he said that before?

_What the Hell just happened?_

_* *_ *

"Let's just get this in the boot -- bit heavy, but I didn't want to trust these to International Express -– Back to yours, I think, didn’t you still have the last of that opera cake in the fridge? I’ve got a hankering – you wouldn’t believe the couple of days I’ve had, really it kept me up all last night _mmppphhhhh!”_

The Bentley obliged by slamming its own passenger door shut, but refrained from commentary.

“Dear. Someone could see us.”

“Quick miracle takes care of that.”

“We’re in the _taxi rank_. It seems terribly indiscreet – hm, you did save it for me, I see. Patience… You must tell me more about this cottage business.”

“So you, ah, you think you might…?”

“I’d like a look at whatever she sent over. _Before_ I get distracted. You know I’m used to deeds and all that sort of thing – _you just missed that cyclist –_ being a clerk was such a good cover back in the Dark Ages, I can see if everything’s in order – _slow down!”_

“Bit of a hurry, angel.”

* * *

“You really must invest in another chair at some point, you know – all right, just lean back on my knee than – fiddly things, these laptops, but handy – yes, this seems fairly standard… are you listening?”

The angel’s free hand was rambling idly through Crowley’s hair, which wasn't helping with his attention span in the least, and had the paradoxical effect of making him drowsy and horny at the same time. He had a pretty good view of the underside of the pink marble table and not much else, but resting his head against sturdy angel thigh had something going for it.

“I’d have to examine _this_ clause a little more closely…” That fingerstroke tracing the whorl of his ear was _not_ quite so soporific. Nape hairs prickled up. “And, well, _this_ might require a bit of delving… are you taking this in?” The fingertip had reached his lips now, and the snakey fork from two nights before was definitely back. “In fact there are probably a few things here that call for the same _depth_ of inquiry, mm, nice… overall though it seems an excellent proposition… bit miraculous how this happened out of the blue, isn’t it…?”

Crowley stopped cold.

“You -- ”

“Yes?”

He didn’t have to look to know that smug-cat expression was back. In fact, he could almost imagine Aziraphale grooming fastidiously over his ear.

“ _You_ did that, didn’t you? Like all those times someone _miraculously_ cancelled their reservation at the Ritz?”

“Well, dear. After you said that about registry offices. It made me think you were serious.”

Snakes don’t growl, but Crowley was discovering extraspecies talents.

“And it seemed just the – well, you hadn’t seemed _that_ disappointed about the cottage, but we _were_ distracted, and I thought _oooofff!”_

The throne didn’t quite topple over as he slid down from it, but ended up a few feet away.

“And you’ve been doing it to _me_ now, haven’t you?”

“The temptation thing? Well, now that you mention….”

“Quick study. Said so before, din' I?”

“This floor’s a bit hard, could we – well, all right – you know all those centuries we _did_ make it a point to observe each other’s work in case we needed to, ah, handle things for one another –-”

“I’ll show you _handling things._ If you say please. _”_

“Please,” said the angel, always careful of correct manners.

* * *

“This is better. Only you’ve stolen the pillows. _Give that here._ Well – you see, looking back, that whole temptation thing, there was something a little delicious about it even if you were making my eyes cross. I simply thought of returning the favour.”

“Consider it returned." A lingering kiss on the first portion of angel anatomy he could reach. "Can we talk about Cerise and the house then? Told her I’d call.”

“Well, can we discuss what you said about the registry office?

“Ngk?”

“ _Cerise_ said it herself. I am a bit old fashioned. If I’m going to move in…”

“You bastard. Yeah, angel. Yeah, we can.”

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, share, reblog, comment! Authors are always thirsty.
> 
> Come say hello on Tumblr @copperplatebeech


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